Second Chance Spectre: Bad Blood
by kzsting
Summary: edging,whooshing and more in a new chapter of the Second Chance Spectre.
1. Chapter 1

**A new Frank Rekki story, If you didn't like the first one please stop.**

**Mass Effect and the Mass Effect universe are property of EA/Bioware. **

**On the run.**

Not for the first time, Edwin suspected he was going to die.

The distant , rhythmic beat of the club above him suggested he was in one of Afterlife's many basement rooms , although the faint smell of death and the thin snowfall of dust that had already fallen on him in the short time he had been here indicated it wasn't one that had been used in a while. Between his blindfolds he could make out a dim, brown-orange light that flicked and wavered. Looking at the ground he saw vague, blurry objects that he guessed were his feet. He still felt a little queasy from whatever it was his captors had injected him with. Whatever it was, it wasn't pleasant. His ears were ringing, and his brain felt as though they were going to push its way out through his eyes any moment now.

Footsteps. He was already aware of the presence of at least two other people in the room, but now he suspected there was another, standing about two meters to his right. It was hard to tell, as his right seemed to be wobbling in different directions as his head continued to throb. He tried to move his hands only to find them tied firmly behind his back. The cold metal of a pair of manacles dug into the flesh and muscle around his wrists. He thought back to the bar on omega, and to how he had ended up in such a position. There he'd been, happily drinking the profits of another successful bounty, when some Asari comes over and asks him to join her at one of the private booths. Having been around the galaxy a few times, Edwin was experienced enough to know better than to follow strange women into unfamiliar areas.

So of course he followed her. She'd told him the booth access was outside, through some stairs at the end of a dark alleyway. At that moment alarm bells should have gone off in his head, but for some reason he remembered feeling completely at ease with the situation. Now that he came to think of it, his splitting headache may not entirely have been the result of his being tranquilized. The last thing he remembered was a dry, leathery hand clamping over his mouth and the sudden pain of a thick needle sinking through the soft flesh of his arm. It was still a little sore.

"you'd better call the boss," said a voice coming from what he took to be his right. In his disoriented state, Edwin was finding it difficult to make out what was being said. The words all seemed to melt into one another, blending with the sound of the far off bass. "I think the sedatives are wearing off."

Edwin began to wonder who it was had abducted him, working through the worryingly long list of people he'd upset over the years. The Blood pack? His captors didn't sound like Krogan or Vorcha, and he had seen firsthand that the Blood Pack didn't take prisoners. Using a girl as bait was exactly the sort of thing he'd expect from the Eclipse, but they'd never try anything like this in the middle of Aria's palace. Besides, he'd paid off his debts to them, and made damn sure they knew it too.

"He'll be down in minute," replied another voice, clearer now. It was definitely Turian. For a few moments, Edwin entertained the notion that it was The Blue Suns who'd grabbed him. Certainly they were the obvious choice; he had enough bad blood with them to fill a lake on the presidium, and he hadn't exactly made it hard for them to find him. He knew something like this would happen eventually. Naively, foolishly perhaps, he had assumed they would have the guts to try to take him out when he was at home, where he could hold them off for days, Like that Archangel guy a couple of weeks back. Clearly if it was The Suns that were holding him, they had wised up.

"You sure Aria's O.K. with all this? We are right under her club." Said the first voice, the familiar deep throated resonance informing Edwin he was a Batarian. So far, so Suns.

" Relax, the Boss said Aria doesn't know a thing. Besides, she knows better than to cross _us._" The Turian reassured his collegue. Behind him Edwin heard the whoosh of a door, followed by the sound of someone breathing heavily, almost gasping. The slow , loud intake and outtake of air was closely accompanied by cumbersome, waddling footfall that seemed almost to slap the laminated floor as it drew closer. Edwin felt uneasy. Something didn't fit the picture, the Blue Suns strict hierarchy and discipline didn't allow for troops to refer to their superiors as "boss". It was either "Commander" or it was a flogging. The breathing began to circle him. He felt the weight of its stare studying him from a safe distance.

" Remove the blind folds" it rasped. Edwin could felt the cold , dry talons of a Turian slide under cloth bound around his eyes. His head was shaken roughly back and forth as the Turian clumsily pried the knot apart. Though the room was not well lit his eyes still stung a little as the binding fell onto his lap. Slowly his surroundings came into focus. Before him stood a Volus, short even for his kind, glaring back at him with the menace of one who has absolute power over another person.

"What is your name, Batarian?" the Volus asked. As he was about to give him a false name he stopped himself, spotting just in time the pistol in the Volus' hand. Having gone to all the trouble of dragging him down here, it was doubtful they would let him go simply because he was "the wrong guy". More likely they would put a bullet in his head and leave him to rot in the dusty basement. And that was if they believed him. If they didn't they would probably torture whatever information they thought he had out of him.

"Edwin...Patterson." He replied. He looked the Volus right in the glowing lenses of its environment suit, lowering his voice in an attempt to sound intimidating. The other Batarian in the room gave a small snort "what kind of name is that?" it asked, chortling.

"Human." Edwin simply replied.

The Volus shot a look at the other Batarian and he immediately stopped laughing. It pulled a data pad from behind its back. It stood there a while, nonchalantly reading off the pad in complete silence and completely ignoring the bound-up man in front of it. A sense of great tension permeated the room. The other two kidnappers were giving each other shifty looks, as though unsure how to proceed. Edwin began to suspect that they knew about as much as he did about what was going on. The Turian grasped his machine gun even more firmly. The tips of his talons made a hideous scraping sound as they scratched the paint off the weapons metal furniture, grating in Edwins adrenaline-swamped mind like a rake along a pavement . For the first time he realised how cold the basement was, they had to be near the bottom of the station. All this time , The Volus simply stood, looking over the little screen with quiet malice.

Finally, it spoke "Do you know why you are being held here?" it inquired, somehow looking him in all four eyes with the same ferocity.

"No." Edwin said bluntly. It seemed disappointed.

"Do you know who we work for?"

"If I had to guess I'd say the shadow broker," He tried to remain cool. Honestly, he had no idea who would bother kidnapping him, but he didn't need them to think that. It was risky trying to fish for his captors identity like this, but tied up as he was it was about all he could do. "And if that's the case, you're fresh out of luck because I don't know jack."

The Volus shook its head, looking up at the ceiling in such a way as to express just how unfazed it was. It gestured to the guards, and Edwin felt the hard, heavy butt of a gun wallop the back of his head. Surprisingly it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as he'd expected, though it didn't do his headache much good. "Guess again" it paused for breath "...mister Patterson". Edwin was about to answer, but it put up a hand to stop him. "That was a rhetorical...question. You work as one of Aria T'Loak's...bodyguards, correct?"

"Hardly," Edwin scoffed. "don't let the fancy armour fool you. I'm a bounty hunter. I work security up at the club sometimes, if they're a man short ,between jobs, but that's about it."

Edwin's armour was indeed very ornate-looking. It was tailor made, each plate thick enough to stop most pistol or shotgun rounds, and with enough shielding to stop virtually everything else. The paint was a custom job, done by an old friend of his. The undercoat was a dark scarlet gloss, bronze tendrils flowed from every joint into a remarkably detailed painting of a Thresher Maw , staring angrily out at the world from the chest panel. It had cost him every penny of the money he had earned with the blues suns, but it was worth it for the sheer intimidation value. The Volus however was neither intimidated nor particularly impressed, adding a note to the data pad in an almost business like fashion.

"Good...so Aria won't mind if we take a little...revenge." It said flatly, sending a shiver down Edwins spine. How could he have been so stupid, telling them no-one was going to miss him. now all he could do was play for time. "Wait," he blurted out as the Volus finished typing. "Revenge for what?" The Volus held up a holo of a young Turian, with unusual red markings on the mandibles. Thinking back, he remembered seeing those marking only a few days ago. The Turian in question had been mouthing off in the VIP area of afterlife, clearly off his face. The drunken "jokes" he was telling were driving the other customers away, and that would not do. The management asked him to leave, but he wouldn't have it. So Edwin had been asked to escort him off the premises, which he duly did. He remembered dragging the enraged Turian out by the ankles, having curses and death threats hurled at him all the way . He began to wish he'd paid more attention to the death threats.

" guy."

"quiet...Batarian, " Roared the Volus, suddenly exploding with rage. "The Drechar demand ...to be shown... respect!"

"The Drechar- oh shit."

"oh yes." The diminutive gangster continued. " you thought you could... humiliate the boss's son... and get away with it?"

"Look, I'm sorry- I didn't know!" Edwin yelled. He was beginning to really panic now. He tried desperately to break his manacles, to no effect. The Drechar were a powerful Turian gang, and if what he'd heard about them was true, he needed to get the hell out of there. He felt the rifle butt smash into his head again, and blood running down his neck. The force of the blow threw his body forward, pulling the chair over with him. He closed his eyes, bracing himself even as his face whacked the floor for the vicious beating he was surely about to receive.

Instead, he heard the door whoosh open, followed by a sickening scream, followed by a dull, heavy thud as the Turian collapsed dead right in front of him. He found himself looking the corpse of his former captor right in its fixed, pebble eyes. An inch wide hole had been punched in the centre of its' forehead, the exit wound of a shot to the back of the head, through which much of the poor bastards brains had evacuated . The Volus managed to get off a few shots at the unseen attacker before being thrown violently across the room by the pressurized gas blasting out of his environment suit, bouncing comically off the wall before crashing into and being buried by some crates. He couldn't see the other Batarian behind him, but a groan of pain and another thudding noise suggested he too was dead.

The next thing he knew, a human had appeared, checked his captors were dead, and opened the restraints on his hands and legs using an omni-tool. A gloved hand reached down and helped him to his feet. The human was a little shorter than he was, and was dressed from head to toe in light ocean-blue and black armour, the alliance and citadel emblems embossed and painted silver-white on the right shoulder. He was wearing no helmet but instead a tattered woollen hat, his sharp features and short, reddish hair clearly visable. In his hand he held a suppressed Carnifex pistol, and a large shotgun, the kind he'd only ever seen krogan carry, was strapped across his waist.

"You alright?" asked the human, and Edwin nodded. He was a little shaky on his feet, and his head was killing him, but other than that he was basically ok. " Are you sure? You took a quite a hit back there..."

"Really, I'm ok. Believe me I've had worse. Thanks for coming when you did, I thought I was varren-meat back then."

"You're welcome " answered the human, who was now fishing through the pile of crates where the Volus had crashed, presumably searching for the data pad. The room was quiet for a couple of awkward minutes, neither Edwin nor his rescuer saying so much as a word. Eventually Edwin felt he should say something, even if it was just a simple thanks and good bye.

" Err, thanks again. I'll uh, just be going then, shall I." He said, turning for the door. The human briefly pulled his arm out from the pile and stopped him.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you. I passed at least six guys on my way down here, and I came in through a vent. If you go through there you'll get torn to shreds before you can say " ouch". I guarantee it."

"what do you suggest?"

The human resumed fishing. " The way I planned to get out is though a shaft directly above this room," he gestured to the ceiling. Edwin could see one of the panels was hinged, held in place largely by black-and-yellow hazard tape. " it's an old inspection tunnel, been there about two hundred years. Comes out right under the Afterlife Hanar toilets and well, you can imagine how few Hanar visit Afterlife so it should be deserted." He finally found what he was looking for, and pocketed the data pad before continuing. " I'd have come in that way but I couldn't get my guns past the bouncers, you know what those guys are like."

Edwin chuckled. He sure did. "Sounds like a plan," he said, stifling a smile. "but uh, what do I call you?"

Now it was the human's turn to grin. He heaved the dead bodies out the way and placed one of the crates underneath the panel. Standing on the improvised platform, he forcefully peeled away the tape and gave the panel a sturdy punch, causing it to fall away revealing a ladder leading up to a long, dark tunnel. He gave Edwin a theatrical bow and indicated with his hands that he should go up first.

"The name's Frank Rekki,Spectre."

...

"So let me get this straight," said Frank, swirling his glass of Batarian ale in his hand as he spoke. In the year or so since he became a spectre, he had developed Quite a taste for it. "you were adopted by human parents after Torfan and raised on earth, that's how you got the name. "

They were in one of Afterlifes smaller Sub-bars, waiting out the frantic Drechar manhunt that had seized the lower levels. Confidant that even the Drechar would avoid attacking the club directly, they had decided to relax a little before going their separate ways .The only table they could find an Asari dancer working on it, and while Edwin wasn't going to object, Frank was doing his best to look away. Soralya would kill him if she found out. "Pretty much," Said Edwin. "I joined up with the Alliance military as soon as I was old enough, thought I was paying back a debt. Sure, a lot of people weren't happy having a Batarian in the ranks at first, but they soon came round to it. At least the grunts did." He took a long gulp of his drink.

"What made you want to leave?" asked Frank.

"About five years in I start noticing other people getting promotions, and I keep getting left behind. So I put in for a commission. A couple of months later I get a letter back saying that " _for reasons of security, non-humans are prohibited from obtaining rank within the Alliance military that would give them access to protected channels,_ or some bullshit like that. That's when I decided enough was enogh. That's when I decided to join the Blue Suns."

"That's a rough deal."

"You're telling me. After a while though, I started to miss that feeling you get when you know the guys wearing the same uniform aren't the ones you have to be most worried about. Trust, I suppose you'd call it. I tried to get out, but the best I could manage was to jump ship to the Eclipse.I don't... I don't want to talk about what I did when I was with them."

Frank gave the Batarian an understanding nod.

"Needless to say I now have both companies out to get me, but Omega, Omega has been good to me. I'm a bounty hunter, and on Omega, there's always a bounty needs hunting."

Franks frowned, his expression changed from one of understanding to a more questioning gaze. He was for the first time beginning to distrust his companion. He could just about see why Edwin had left the Blue suns, and he had enough experience with Alliance higher ups to sympathize with him on that front, but he had also met a lot of "bounty hunters" who had turned out to be little more than hired thugs. The table dancer, already worried by his refusal to even acknowledge her presence, stealthily slid off the table and disappeared into one of the side rooms. If the was going to be a fight, she didn't want to be in the middle of it.

"Isn't a bounty hunter just a glorified hitman?" He asked sternly. Edwin shrugged and gave a sort of half nod before replying:

"Yes, a lot of them are. I'm not going to deny it. Most of them don't even differentiate between targets, all they see is the pile of credits waiting for them at the end, won't let anything get between them and it. But, and I don't care if you don't believe me, but I try to do things differently. If I can bring someone in alive, I do, if I can't, I give them a chance to fight back. I'm proud to say this, even though you won't believe me, but I never kill cold blood. Never."

He never broke eye contact, and though he was no expert in reading body language, something in his head told Frank he was sincere. " Edwin," He said. "I believe you."

There was a silence between them, but not the same awkward silence of the dingy basement, but silence of an altogether different kind. It was a silence born of all things that need to be said having been said, when one conversation ends and a new one begins. Both men finished their drinks.

"So how'd you end up a spectre?" asked Edwin. He sounded genuinely curious. "last I heard, Shepard was the only human spectre, and he's dead. How come I never heard about you? I mean the news is normally all over that sort of thing."

Frank looked awkwardly at the table, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, it's a long story, and most of its classified. The council likes to keep quiet about me, I think they're embarrassed or something. I got sworn in complete secrecy, in a back room under the council chambers would you believe. Usually the send me on minor odd-jobs where they think I won't cause too much trouble, but then I found out this stolen weapon shipment and well, they couldn't stop me from looking into it."

"You think the Drechar had something to do with it?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. I sorry, but I can't risk them finding anything out. They're already after you, and if they grab you again I won't be there to stop them torturing you for information"

"I suppose so. But Frank, If they're still after me I can't go home, They'll be waiting for me. We both know what they're capable off. I know it's probably too much to ask but, I don't suppose you could help me get off this station.?"

Frank looked around and quickly came to a decision. "Fine, let's go."

"You serious?"

"Hell yeah. Come on, I have a ship waiting."

**next time: we meet the _Remora _crew, and someone has a message for Clianala T'Sooris.**


	2. Chapter 2

**The message.**

They left without paying the bill. Edwin was at first a little apprehensive about doing so, he was in enough trouble as things stood without pissing Aria off too, but at since He didn't have any money and Frank could hardly claim drinks in a bar owned by a known criminal on his Spectre expenses, he didn't really have much say in the matter.

_Remora _was docked in one of the small private ports in the lower reaches of Omega. These ports, and the slums that surrounded them, were often home to large numbers of Quarians, both those on pilgrimage and in exile. Most came to omega looking for cheap ships to take back to the fleet, and for the excitement that came with the stations seedy reputation, only to soon find themselves destitute either by robbery or at the hands of the shady rip-off merchants that were always on the lookout for naive young "suit-suckers".

Those that found themselves truly desperate ended up as virtual, if not actual, slaves the ports. In exchange for a little food and lodging provided by the dock-owners, they repaired the ships that came in, bringing in a tidy profit for their masters while receiving pittance themselves.

Frank, who owed so much to the Quarian people, had been enraged when he discovered this, selling off half of his own ship's armaments in order to buy this dock and the houses surrounding it. He could never afford to pay more than a basic wage, but it was more than the other swindlers offered and it had been enough to earn him a loyal workforce.

In the months since he had arrived in the terminus, he'd become a sort of go-between for the migrant fleet and the council , Using his dock as a safe haven for operatives of both groups and earning a grudging respect for his efforts, but even then he still felt guilty. To see a warship of _Remora's_ calibre, a ship that could have been the pride of the Quarian patrol fleet, owned by a human and docked on a station where so many Quarians suffered on a daily basis always made him cringe a little. _It's what Harry wanted, _he had to keep telling himself.

For his part, Edwin was impressed by the ship this human with half her guns gone,_ Remora_ was still powerful enough to fend off all but the biggest pirate vessels, and even had limited ground-attack capabilities. She was designed in the Quarian style, a big, armoured front end from which protruded the ship's impressively-sized thrusters, and a long, tadpole- like tail that served both as crew housing and cargo storage. She was clearly a predator; built for speed and attack-power, built to be able to generate as much of both as she possibly could while still using as few precious resources as possible.

Frank opened the hatchway mounted on the ships underbelly and pulled down the boarding ladder. The two men clambered aboard. The ships interior was almost as impressive as its exterior, the signs of its recent refit clear for all see. The equipment was in almost pristine condition, the pipes and wires all safely packed into the walls, even the greasy yellow paint scheme had barely a scratch on it. A well kept ship, Edwin remembered his old Eclipse captain saying to him once, is a sign of a well kept mind. Of course, Her ship had been an unruly mess and so to, as he soon discovered to his cost, had been her mind, but the point still stood.

"Honey, I'm home!" Frank called out as he pulled the hatch up behind them, laughing heartily as he did so. An Asari dressed in pale green medical scrubs appeared at the rail about two meters above them. To Edwin's eyes she looked to be in her late maiden, maybe very early matron stage, though it was hard to say for sure. She sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose and curling her upper lip into a subtle scowl of disapproval.

"Batarian ale, again, Frank?" she said, drolly. "I thought we agreed you'd stop drinking that vile stuff after last time."

" I know dear, but it seemed appropriate, given who I was sharing it with."

She caught sight of Edwin. " Oh, Godess! I am so sorry if I offended you, I didn't realise. I am so sorry"

"It's fine," said Edwin, waving off her concern. " I'd have stopped him if I'd known."

"Hmmph," Frank snorted, pulling a face in mock-irritation. " and there was me just starting to like you." He grabbed hold of a mass of netting and threw it up to the Asari, who caught it and began tying it to the railing. Once he was convinced it was secure he hauled himself up onto he level by climbing the net and planted a kiss squarely on the woman's cheek. "Edwin Patterson, allow me to introduce Soralya, My wife and doctor to good ship _Remora_ ."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"Ma'am?" Soralya giggled. "Your good manners put my husband to shame, Mr Patterson. Please, come on up, I'm sure we will be departing soon."

...

"I'll eat your scalp in a sandwich, Asari!" the Krogan Battlemaster roared, pounding and smashing at the metal door of the basement. The door was already beginning buckle, unable to withstand the punishment it was receiving from the two-tonne brute trying to force his way in. It would only be mere moments before it collapsed beneath the strain, releasing the full fury of the warlord's blood rage into room below.

For Clianala T'sooris , those few moments were enough. She was fully aware of how dangerous a full-fledged battlemaster could be in close quarters such as the basement she was currently hiding in, but she wouldn't have lasted long as a Spectre had she not learned how to exploit her enemies weaknesses and turn any situation, no matter how dire, to her advantage.

In her experience krogan, even masterful combat strategists that rose to become battlemasters, became completely wild and unable to control their aggression after a certain point during a fight. Once sufficiently goaded, they reverted to charging madly at their target, typically blasting everything in their way with a shotgun as they did so.

And ,boy, had she goaded this one.

In a bizarre twist of fate that would make even a Hanar raise an eyebrow, It transpired that this particular Krogan mercenary commander was the brood- brother of the one that, two hundered or so years back, gotten into a fatally misjudged fight with the Spectre in a small Salarian clinic. Killing someone's brother is, of course, usually considered to be very rude indeed. Killing someone's brother then coming back two centuries later, wiping out their krantt and slaying about a dozen of their best vorcha? Also not exactly cricket.

Killing someone's brother, wiping out their Krantt, slaughtering their vorcha, and all the while having the audacity to be an Asari, a species fit only for use as strippers and table dancers in the coming Krogan empire? Surely the gravest insult imaginable.

Clianala inhaled deeply, gripping her remaining pistol firmly in both hands. She'd lost the other one to the Krogan's opening attack, a vicious biotic throw that had taken her completely by surprise and very nearly cost her an arm. The shockwave she'd countered with was strong enough, just barely, to stagger the warlord and hold off his charge, giving her the vital seconds she'd needed the get to her feet and make for the door. Clianala was no coward, remaining in that building would almost certainly have gotten her killed. Only a fool or a hero would have tried to make a stand against such a powerful foe, and Clianala was no fan of either. In her view, caution and adaptability were the skills a spectre needed to keep the citadel safe, not recklessness and bravery, but still she felt guilty. Guilty she had been able to complete her mission, guilty she had been unable to retrieve the intel on the Blood Pack's weapons dealing activities she needed to further her explanation. For the spectre, Failure was not a familiar feeling.

She exhaled. Recriminations would have to wait. The Krogan was almost through the door, leaving her only seconds to come up with a plan. She was too tired from the chase for a prolonged exchange of biotics to be an option, what energy she had left needed to go to her barrier. Her pistol was optimised to tackle the thick armour the battlemaster was wearing (she had come armed for krogan, after all), but she only had three thermal clips remaining. At six shots a clip, that gave her eighteen shots with which to bring her attacker down, assuming she didn't miss.

Hurriedly she scanned the room, her eyes darting around trying to pick out any advantage they could before the Krogan broke through . The room was full of thick rectangular support pillars, tightly packed and arranged in narrow rows that would restrict the already lumbering hulk's ability to move, giving her more agile frame an advantage and providing her with a modicum of cover. If she could just slow him down enough to get her shots on target then maybe, just maybe...

There was a deafening crash as the door was sent flying off of its hinges, splintering into two whirling halves that spun violently across the room, ricocheting off the back walls with a dull thump. There stood the Battlemaster, Eight feet tall at the hump and very nearly as wide, clutching a massive shotgun with what must have been a twelve-inch bayonet mounted crudely on to it. The early morning light was streaming in behind him, illuminating every centimetre of his enormous body. His face was almost completely hidden in silhouette, but his hideous, twitching snarl was clear to see. He roared again, the sound reverberating around the room, amplified by the cavernous ceiling of the cellar. She could virtually smell his fecal breath already.

" You're dead now, you hear me?" he spat. He was already marching forward , readying himself for the charge. Edging around her pillar, the Spectre lined up her first shot. " When I get my hands on you..."

She squeezed the trigger twice , sending a round squarely into her enemies shoulder, and another glancing his collar just below the neck. He didn't even flinch.

Laughing, The Krogan raised his shotgun and made his reply, blasting the pillar Clianala was hiding behind and smashing it to smithereens. Just in time, she threw herself to the left and ducked behind another, praying the Krogan didn't have another clip waiting to reload with.

Mercifully, he didn't. Instead he snapped the bayonet out of its socket, discarding the gun entirely, and raised the blade high ready to strike. Her heart pumping furiously, Clianala sprayed her remaining bullets at her opponent and made ready to jump again. She knew what was about to happen.

With a bellowing "Gnnnaaaargh!" the Krogan surged forward, powering toward her like meteor hurtling towards a planet, crashing through the solid pillars between them as though they were made of cardboard. When the knife was just inches from her chest, plunging towards her seemingly in slow motion, the spectre rolled narrowly to safety, rolling deftly behind another pillar to reload. The krogan hurtled past and collided clumsily with the wall, leaving behind a deep crater in the concrete that exposed the reinforcing steel beneath. Dusting himself off, he chuckled and raised the bayonet once again.

" You'll have to do much better than that, Asari. I'm not gonna just lay down and like my brother did."

A deadly game of chicken ensued. Again and again, the Krogan would lunge for Clianala's throat with the knife, each attempt thwarted at the last millisecond as the spectre dodged, hurling herself as far away as she possibly could, sending the attacker careering off balance and into a wall or the side of a pillar, only to pick himself up and try again.

Things were beginning to look desperate. Although she had the upper hand when it came to manoeuvrability, Clianala knew full well that if it came down to who had the most stamina, she was done for. If the fight didn't end soon, she would be too tired to evade the unrelenting assault. If she got just a little too weary, just a little too slow, it was all over.

She looked over at her enemy, who was still heaving himself out of the concrete after his last attempt to impale her. Though he showed no sign of tiring, the strain of multiple heavy collisions had to be affecting him somehow. Then, as he turned to face her, she saw it! where her second shot had landed a few minutes earlier, she could see a faint shimmer, a glint of metal in a sea of dull matt blood. An implant, probably a biotic amp of some kind, dislodged from its place and trying to make its way out through the open wound . It wasn't a life threatening injury in itself, but if the Krogan tried to bring up a barrier it would probably short and send a crippling jolt of electricity that would almost certainly put him out of action for a few seconds. Seconds Clianala could use to put a bullet in his head.

A seasoned Battlemaster like him was probably very aware of this and would have already lowered his barrier, relying on thick armor and good old-fashioned krogan health regeneration to keep him breathing long enough to finish her off. In theory, a few critically placed shots in his head and neck and Clianala got to keep her scalp.

The spectre stepped out from behind the pillar, levelling her gun at head height. The Battlemaster was already pushing off, thrusting one massive foot in front of the other, rapidly gaining ground. Close range. That would ease her aim enough to put the bullets where she needed them. she gazed down the barrel, the world outside of her sights becoming little more than a blur. Time slowed down once again as the Krogan drew ever closer. He was about two feet from her. All it came down to now, was recoil. Recoil, and her nerve...

All of a sudden the Krogan flung his head downwards and walloped hump-first into her, the sheer force flinging her back several meters. This time it was her turn to hit the wall, and it was her bones that broke rather than the concrete. She landed face first onto the hard floor, her nose acting as a crumple zone for her face. The shock blocked out the pain momentarily, but when it arrived it did its utmost to make up for the delay. She struggled to try and pull herself up, but to no avail. Her ribs felt smashed. Her left shoulder felt as though it was dislocated, her right simply wasn't responding. Her neck, by some mercy, wasn't broken, but as she strained to look up at her opponent it still hurt like all hell.

He was still standing where he'd headbutted her, picking up the pistol she'd dropped to examine it, disdainfully. He gave a derisive little snort and cast it on the ground again, stomping it to oblivion. Clianala grimaced, trying desperately not to wince with the pain of every breath. It was not the best way to go out, butchered on an unimportant mission, on an unimportant planet, by one of the lesser-known Battlemasters. She thought back to the places she'd seen, The people she'd met. Most had disappointed her. Perhaps if she'd been a bit more of a romantic, she'd have enjoyed life more.

But then, she wouldn't have been Clianala t'Sooris, Spectre.

" You've given me quite the Run-around, Asari," the Krogan Gloated " but we both knew who was going to win this one."

Behind him, the wind coming in through the door began to pick up the dust that had been displaced on the commotion, creating a veil of cloud that obscured everything beyond it. As the plume rose and fell, however, she could have sworn she saw the faintest movement over in the far distance. Backup for the Krogan , most likely. Barring a miracle, this was probably it. Her thoughts turned to her mother, the first time they had done so for several centuries. She wondered what she would have made of seeing her only daughter die utterly helpless on her belly, covered in blood and dust, in a basement of all places. " It'll all end in tears, this commando business" She used to tell her, but even now Clianala was determined to prove her wrong. She was most definitely not going to cry.

"Come on then, asshole," she growled, baring her gritted teeth as a final act of defiance. " The fuck are you waiting for?"

The krogan sniggered and started marching ominously towards her at a snail's pace. He was mocking her, making sure she felt every minute of the pain she was in. If revenge is a dish best served cold, he was shovelling on the ice for his.

"I'm not gonna make this quick, you do realise that? And I'm going to be keeping you alive for most of it."

In the gloom, the mysterious flash of movement had returned. Looking over the Krogan's shoulder Clianala could just about make out a figure concealed by the shroud, creeping slowly and silently behind the Battlemaster. Something wasn't right; if the figure had come to support the Krogan, and that could only be the case, why hadn't it announced its presence? Hell, why hadn't the Krogan smelt it come in? It had to be something utterly scentless, which ruled out vorcha straight off. Could it be someone was actually trying to rescue her? No. Impossible. Several people owed her that kind of favour, but none of them could possibly know she was there. A Have- a-go-hero, maybe? Great, someone else who was going to die because of her screw-up.

The Krogan was almost upon her, knife ready in his to begin the mutilation. The rhythm of his slow, lumbering steps added to the sense of finality of the proceedings ._ I don't know who you are,_ Clianala thought, _But if you're going to do something, now's the time._

Almost in reply to her thoughts there was another deafening roar, but this one was no Krogan Battlecry. This was the blistering scream of a rocket being fired, and from nowhere appeared the flash and burning tail of a missile as it came arcing round a pillar, striking the Battlemaster decisively in the chest. The missile lodged amongst his ribs, beeping loudly. All he could do was stare impotently as the warhead detonated inside his chest cavity, showering Clianala with gore. His body fell slumped, landing on its side a few inches from the spectre's surprised face.

The brute's seared lungs made a last, desperate attempt to pull in enough air to keep him alive, but following a final, futile gasp, he fell silent. The acrid smell of charred flesh and exposed organs began to defuse across the noiseless room as Clianala blinked off the last of the dust kicked into her face by her adversary's fall, spitting out more than a few chunks of organic shrapnel.

She could hear the footsteps of the lone figure approaching her. She was about to meet her savior, if indeed that was what they turned out to be.

The first thing she saw was the distinctive, three-toed foot of a Quarian, with two larger toes for power, a smaller third tucked into the side for balance. Where the foot lead, the rest of the quarian wasn't far behind, a tall, well built male, still clutching the weapon that had had so effectively eviscerated the Krogan moments earlier. His environment suit was a dull shade of dark beige, highlighted with a battleship-grey cloth to cover the joint, and on his hip sat a Tempest submachine gun. Clearly he meant business.

" Guided Impalement Warheads are illegal in Council space," The spectre groaned. " you're lucky I'm in no position to arrest you."

"Most people would have opened this Conversation with a "thankyou"," the Quarian replied "or even just "Hello"." There was something familiar about his voice. Clianala was certain she'd met this Quarian before, but she couldn't quite place where. The Arachne mission, maybe? There had been two male Quarians working with her on that. One of them had died. Clearly this was the other one.

"I remember you," she panted. It still hurt to talk. " from Arachne, right?"

" Very good," The Quarian answered " though I'm sure that was an experience both of us are eager to forget. Bothar'Rattan vas Tikkun , vas Remora when last we met."

Bothar reached down and gripped the spectre under her arms , carefully pulling her to her feet. Her legs were still mostly intact, but she wasn't going to begrudge the support. She was exhausted, the trauma she'd just been through wiping every last ounce of her strength. Together they began the walk back past the destroyed doorway, in to the still deserted streets outside.

"Why did you come here, Bothar?" Clianala asked " I take it you weren't just passing by and happend to stumble on a spectre in distress."

" No, Clia, indeed I wasn't." The Quarian answered. " But we need to get you to a doctor before I Explain it all to you. I trust your ship is somewhere nearby?"

" They have orders to wait in orbit until I call for them. I can do that once we're clear of this place. In the meantime, why don't you give me the quick version?"

"Very well" replied Bothar, disgruntled. " put simply, We share a mutual friend who is about to find himself in a great deal of danger ".


End file.
